


love is an ever-fixed mark, never shaken

by larienelengasse



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larienelengasse/pseuds/larienelengasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylaid in a settlement in the wide fields of East Emnet, Elladan and Elrohir reunite with friends and struggle to negotiate the complicated worlds of love, men, and cantankerous animals. Set before the events in Fellowship of the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is an ever-fixed mark, never shaken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/gifts).



> Written for alexcat in the 2016 My Slashy Valentine exchange. The prompt included: “Elrond's sons in love with humans or someone unsuitable in a humorous way; A tavern (maybe a rather unsavory one), humor, a stubborn animal of some sort, romance and sweetness instead of graphic love.”
> 
> Please forgive any errors as this has not been betaed.
> 
> Title adapted from Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare, included at the beginning of the story.

_ Let me not to the marriage of true minds _

_ Admit impediments. Love is not love _

_ Which alters when it alteration finds, _

_ Or bends with the remover to remove: _

_ O no! it is an ever-fixed mark _

_ That looks on tempests and is never shaken; _

_ It is the star to every wandering bark, _

_ Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  _

_ Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks _

_ Within his bending sickle's compass come: _

_ Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, _

_ But bears it out even to the edge of doom. _

_ If this be error and upon me proved, _

_ I never writ, nor no man ever loved. _

(Sonnet 116) 

~William Shakespeare

 

Elrohir lightly dropped down from his horse, removing his glove and giving the sleek mare a gentle stroke to her velvety soft muzzle. It had been a long, hard, and fast-paced ride. She was no longer breathing hard, but her coat was glistening with sweat and dried white flecks of spittle dotted her copper colored legs. She ducked her head, dropping her nose down toward his knees and he scratched between her ears, ruffling her black forelock. He chuckled as she nickered and her upper lip began to wiggle against the side of his boot. “Yes, yes. This is your favorite spot, no?” he murmured. “You were a brave lady today, but then you always are.”  He moved away from her head and inspected her carefully. Thankfully there were naught more than some superficial scratches - nothing that some salve wouldn’t easily cure - but she had thrown a shoe and a small crack was developing on the side of her hoof.

 

“How is she?” Elladan asked as he dismounted, rubbing his gelding’s neck, also inspecting his mount’s injuries.

 

“She threw a shoe and has a small crack in her right front hoof. I’ll need to forge another and mend that hoof before we continue on. A few days at most,” he replied. “And Rochallor?”

 

“He has lived up to his namesake today, that is certain,” Elladan said, looking the large grey gelding over. His lips tightened into a thin line as he gently probed a nasty cut across the gelding’s phalanx. Rochallor jerked his leg up and Elladan rubbed his hip, speaking softly in soothing tones. The horse settled and he got a better look. His grey fur was stained red below the cut. The blow had missed anything vital, but if the wound was left untreated it would fester, and it obviously hurt. “I’ll need to stitch and poultice this, but a few days should be enough.” The gelding nickered nervously. “I know, old friend. You shall be better soon, I promise.”

 

A grimace curled Elrohir’s lip when he saw the injury. “Is that the worst of it?”

 

“Aye,” Elladan answered. “It looks worse than it is, thankfully.” He straightened and looked at his brother. “Is that true of you as well?” he asked. A nasty purplish bruise was forming on Elrohir’s jaw.

 

Elrohir rubbed at it and winced. “Yes. Nothing broken or out of place. Can’t say the same for the orc that did this to me, though.” He grinned.

 

“It is entirely unlike you to let one get so close, brother,” he said. “You are getting soft.” 

 

Elrohir snorted and clapped Elladan on the shoulder. His brother yelped and moved away. “Am I now?”

 

Elladan rolled his sore shoulder. “Your point is taken. Gods, I want to get this armor off, now.”

 

“I could help with that.”

 

Elladan turned to find Éomer standing behind him and he smiled broadly. He and Éomer had been quite friendly for several years now. To him it still felt new, but to the human it most likely did not feel that way. Elves and humans perceived time differently. 

 

“And how does the Third Marshal of the Riddermark do this fine day?” 

 

“Very well, Master Elladan. Though I dare say the two of you do not look like you fared so well.”

 

“It was a minor skirmish at the border of Emyn Muil,” Elrohir answered.

 

“It it was so minor, then how came the two of you…” he looked over Elladan’s shoulder at their mounts, “and the two of them come to be injured?”

 

“Perhaps not so minor,” Elrohir reluctantly admitted.

 

“It was a group of about twenty orcs,” Elladan answered seriously. “They had been raiding, apparently.” His expression grew grim. “They had taken . . . souvenirs. They’re all dead now.”

 

Éomer uttered something akin to a low growl. “Vermin!” he spat.

 

“ Agreed,” Elrohir said. “So…” he looked around the courtyard. “Who keeps your company? Or, are you on your own?” he asked.

 

Éomer grinned. “Looking for anyone in particular, are we?”

 

Elladan snorted quietly. “I believe my brother may be interested in having a . . . conversation with your friend Elfhelm.”

 

Elrohir glared at his brother. “He is an excellent conversationalist. Why would I not?” 

 

Elladan just nodded his head. “Of course,” he said. “Did you think me to imply something different?”

 

Elrohir resisted the urge to kick his brother’s ankle for teasing him so. 

 

Éomer laughed. “Elfhelm just happens to be here, yes. He’s in the tavern, at the moment. Should I fetch him for you?”

 

Elrohir grumbled and moved back to his mare. “I am taking her to the stables, tending to her, and then I hope not to see the two of you.” He walked away with his horse.

 

Elladan grinned and shook his head, and then he looked at Éomer. “He will get over it. You look well, my friend,” he said.

 

Éomer smiled warmly and stepped closer to Elladan so he could speak quietly. “And you take my breath away, as you always do,” he said quietly. He wanted to reach out and touch the elf, but he dared not in so public a place. Not all men were understanding of the nature of their friendship.

 

“You’re making me blush,” Elladan said quietly, with a teasing smile.

 

“Which makes you all the more beautiful,” Éomer whispered.

 

“Shall I put on a dress and knit you a handkerchief?” Elladan teased.

 

“Stop,” Éomer chastised, but there was little heat in his tone. “You are an unrepentant brat.”

 

“Yes, I am. That is one of the things you like most about me, no?” Elladan asked with a smile, turning to rub his gelding’s neck. “I need to attend to his leg” he said with a more serious tone.

 

Éomer glared mockingly at the Peredhel, but it soon dissolved into a more friendly expression. “Aye. Do you need some help?”

 

“I will never turn down an offer of assistance,” Elladan said. “He’s not going to like this, though I doubt he will kick me in the face for it.”

 

“Follow me,” Éomer said, leading the way to the stables. “We should have everything you need to take care of him. Though, I dare say he will need several days before you ride him again.”

 

Elladan walked along behind Éomer, one hand on Rochallor’s neck as the horse moved with his master through the narrow streets. “A few for certain,” he said. 

 

“That will give you and your brother time to heal from your own wounds as well, though I know you heal quickly.” Éomer said. When they reached the stables, he pulled open the door and held it as Elladan led his mount inside. 

 

Elrohir was applying an ointment to the scratches on his mare’s flanks as they entered. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, surveying his work and ensuring he had not missed anything. Orcs often tainted their weapons and he would not have his mare succumbing to poison. “I think we were lucky,” he said to Elladan when he saw his brother enter. “I am not seeing any sign of poison or infection.”

 

“Lucky indeed,” Elladan said as he removed the minimal tack from his horse. 

 

“I prepared a poultice for you,” Elrohir said. “While you clean the wound, I will grind some valerian root, chamomile, and devil’s claw to make a slurry for him, just to ease his pain and nervousness.”

 

“That would be helpful, thank you ‘Ro.” He looked up to see Éomer drawing a bucket with clean water. “I will need some warm water as well,” he said.

 

Éomer set the bucket down next to Elladan. “I will fetch some from the stable master,” he said. “Do not start until I return. I know he is well trained but, this will be uncomfortable for him.” 

 

“I can handle my own horse, Éomer,” Elladan said, but there was little heat in his tone. 

 

“But you should not have to do so alone,” he answered. “Elrohir and I will help you.”

 

“Stop arguing, ‘Dan,” Elrohir said as he ground the roots into a fine powder. “There is no point in you doing this yourself when there are skilled hands to help.”

 

“Fine,” Elladan said. He smiled a bit sheepishly. “Thank you.”

 

“You are welcome,” Elrohir said without looking up from his work. “Once we have Rochallor settled, I will attend to Gilroch’s hoof. I would like to let her go barefoot for a day or so, so I am going to pull all four shoes. I will put a new set on before we leave.”

 

“I can help you with that,” Elladan said.

 

“That would be appreciated,” Elrohir answered. “You are the second best talent I know when it comes to the forge.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in a grin.

 

Elladan rolled his eyes and shook his head, then he turned his attention back to Rochallor. He stroked his geldings head, his hands moving over the horse’s eyes as they closed. “There now,” he murmured. “Soon you will have a belly full of warm mash and your leg will no longer hurt. You will have nothing to do but eat and sleep for a few days, yes? You will be good as new, my brave friend.”

 

Éomer returned with a bucket of warm water and Elrohir used some of it to wet the grain he was making into a mash. He then mixed in the herb mixture he had prepared and carried it to Rochallor’s stall. “Does this not look and smell delicious?” he asked the horse. He smiled as the gelding enthusiastically began eating. The horse’s eyes were half lidded and he made quiet slurping noises as he ate the mash.

 

“Do not give me that look,” Elrohir said to his mare. “You will have some in short order.” 

 

As they waited for the herb mixture to take effect, Elrohir fed his own horse and then prepared the poultice as Elladan gently rinsed the wound on Rochallor’s leg with warm water. The gelding’s eyes were half closed, his head hanging low as his weight shifted slightly toward the wall. 

 

“I think we are ready to stitch the wound,” Éomer said, stroking the gelding’s nose and supporting his head with one hand under the horse’s chin. “He is galloping in green fields in his dreams.”

 

Elladan had removed his armor, and pulled a low stool close to his horse’s flank. Elrohir handed him a length of strong thread of their own making and a sterilized needle. Next to Elrohir, but outside of the stall, was a small box. On top of the box was a clean cloth, and on top of that the treated bandages that would cover the stitched wound. 

 

Elladan started at the edge of the wound, on the outside of Rochallor’s leg. At the first prick and then the pull of the thread through the skin, the gelding’s head raised sluggishly. Éomer gently swept his hands over the horse’s eyes in a cupped fashion. “Shh, my friend. All is well,” he said softly, his deep voice and experienced horseman’s touch soothing the gelding’s nerves. As the stitching reached the widest point of the wound, Elladan had to pull a bit harder. Since the wound was over the bone, there was little fleshy material between the phalanx bone and the wound. Elladan still found it a miracle that the weapon had not cut the bone itself.

 

The prick and pull of the next stitch woke Rochallor from his stupor and the horse snorted loudly and kicked out, breaking one leg of the stool Elladan sat upon. It happened so quickly that he only had time to release the needle and sit up, narrowly avoiding a kick to the face. The broken stool caused him to fall backward and his cartwheeling arms knocked over the bucket of water as he landed on his back in the wet straw. One boot landed squarely in the middle of a pile of his horse’s manure. 

 

As soon as Elrohir realized his twin was unhurt, he barked out a laugh, and then covered his mouth. “Sorry. Are you alright?”

 

Elladan cursed in his native tongue and gained his feet, brushing his pants off as he vainly attempted to wipe the manure from his boot.

 

Éomer still held the gelding’s head. “Whoa, my friend. All's well, be easy,” he said quietly. His lips curved into a grin when he saw Elladan was unhurt. “It would serve you well to keep your wits about you,” he said. “Read your horse’s movement.”

 

Elladan rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Thank you ever so much for the advice.” He looked at his twin, who had already fetched another stool for him to sit on. He took it and pushed the remnants of the other out of the way with his foot. He placed a hand on his horse’s flank. “Almost there, my friend. Just a bit longer.”

 

He murmured an incantation that he had learned from his father when he was naught but an elfling. Elrohir joined him, speaking quietly into Rochallor’s ear. Soon the gelding calmed and his head dropped lower, and Elladan was able to finish stitching the wound. 

 

After they had pulled Gilroch’s remaining shoes, trimmed her feet and tended to her damaged hoof, they cleaned up their work and ensured that both horses were bedded down for the night. When the three friends left the stable it was after nightfall. Elladan had set his breastplate back on but did not secure it - it was easier than carrying it - and he looked forward to a long, hot bath and comfortable, clean clothes. He was exhausted and sore and not at all pleasing to smell.

 

“You stink,” Elrohir said, wrinkling his nose. 

 

“I know, but thank you for pointing that out,” Elladan said with a roll of his eyes.

 

“How’s your backside?” Éomer asked with a grin.

 

Elladan flashed a teasing smile at his friend. “It could do with some attention,” he answered.

 

“Oh, for Eru’s sake,” Elrohir grumbled and he quickened his pace. “I’ll not be a party to  _ that _ conversation.”

 

Elladan laughed and shook his head. “Where can we get a decent, hot meal in this village?” he asked Éomer.

 

“The Slippery Pig has good enough food,” Éomer answered. “And the ale is good too. It is not fancy, and the crowd can get rambunctious, but I think you and your brother will appreciate it.”  He stopped at the door of a small Inn. “I secured lodgings for you and your brother here. The chambermaids should have your rooms prepared. It will not take long to draw a bath. Shall I meet you in the tavern?”

 

Elladan laid his hand on Éomer’s arm. “Yes, and thank you, for helping today.”

 

Éomer leaned forward and looked into the Peredhel’s grey-blue eyes. “Any excuse to spend time with you is welcome,” he said quietly.

 

Elladan smiled and resisted the urge to stroke Éomer’s soft, honeyed beard. Perhaps they would find a time and place for that later. “Well, I shall provide as many of those as I can manage,” he answered softly. 

 

“Mmm, yes. That sounds like a very good idea,” Éomer said. “Now, you really do smell quite bad.” He smiled.

 

Elladan snorted. “I shall join you in short order at the tavern.”  He smiled at Éomer as he watched his friend walk away. When he turned around he was greeted by a rather buxom woman with streaks of grey in otherwise brown hair. Her hands were on her hips and Elladan could see Elrohir smiling at him from over her shoulder.

 

“If you think you are coming into this house with those boots…”

 

“Oh, yes. Right.” He quickly toed them off.

 

The woman held out her hands and took the boots by the tops as she wrinkled her nose. “I thought elves were supposed to be lacking in body odor,” she said as she carried the boots toward the back door.

 

Elrohir snorted and Elladan slugged his twin in the arm. Elrohir carried his own boots in his hand as they climbed the stairs toward the rooms prepared for them.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A long soak in a tub and a good scrubbing made Elladan feel almost good as new. His left shoulder was a mottled shade of purple and yellow and it was quite sore to the touch as well as uncomfortable to move. 

 

He entered the room he was sharing with his twin to find Elrohir sitting on the side of his bed, braiding his hair into a thick rope. “I have something for that bruise on your face. It is in my pack.”

 

Elrohir finished the braid and stood up, walking over to where Elladan had stored his pack. He rummaged through and found a small tin of ointment. He took it to the mirror and began applying it to the bruise. “I am so hungry I could eat an entire bushel of apples,” he said, gingerly smoothing the salve into his jaw.

 

“Killing orcs is hungry work,” Elladan replied. “Thank you for helping me today.”

 

“No thanks are necessary,” Elrohir said, pulling his dark blue velvet doublet over his undershirt. 

 

“Dressing up are we?” 

 

“We are going out, are we not?” Elrohir asked with one eyebrow raised in his father’s fashion.

 

“We are going to a tavern called ‘The Slippery Pig,’ I doubt we need dress in our finest.”

 

“Well, it is this or I will need to pluck the other out of the laundry and after several weeks in the wild, it is a bit worse for wear.”

 

“Point taken. I suspect the housemistress will charge extra for the state of my boots and breeches,” Elladan said. “Not that I blame her, of course.”

 

“She is sterner than Falowen,” Elrohir said. “I would not want to cross her.”

 

A sharp rap at the door, followed by the dull thud of Elladan’s boots hitting the floor outside their room caused the elder brother to look at his twin with a bemused expression. “As you were saying…”

 

Elrohir chuckled and then tugged the hem of his tunic and smoothed his trousers as he checked his appearance in the mirror.

 

Elladan’s smile broadened. He knew why his twin was concerned with his appearance. Elrohir and Elfhelm had not spent as much time with each other as he and Éomer had. Their relations were still new.

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“Stop making that face. You are not nearly as clever as you think you are.”

 

“I am merely in a good mood and looking forward to a warm meal and tankard of ale.”

 

“I doubt it,” Elrohir groused. “I will meet you downstairs.”

 

Elladan chuckled and shook his head and then finished dressing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Slippery Pig was a dark, smoky, closed-in establishment. It smelled of men and wood smoke, of roasted meat and spilled ale and pipe tobacco. Its patrons were raucous men who had more than their share of years spent in places much like it all over the lands of Rohan and beyond. Some were warriors, others merchants and blacksmiths, and some appeared to acquire their living by less honest means. Elladan and Elrohir stood apart in the most obvious of ways - they were clean and elegant, standing a head taller than most of the men in the tavern, and the light of the eldar seemed to shine even in so dark and dirty a place.

 

“This is . . .  interesting,” Elladan said quietly to his twin.

 

“It is perfect,” Elrohir said with a smile. He caught sight of Elfhelm. “Pardon me, I see a friend.”

 

Elladan smiled and shook his head, and then began searching the dimly let room for Éomer. The man was sitting amongst his fellow Rohirrim, laughing at a tale one of his comrades told. He reached across the table and plucked an olive from a bowl and popped it in his mouth. Elladan leaned against the pillar that stood close by, content to watch the man from a short distance. When Éomer’s warm eyes found his, and the man’s mouth curved into a familiar smile, Elladan felt that spark of warmth that he always felt when he was near the Marshall.

 

He walked over to where Éomer sat with his friends. “Do you have room for one more?” he asked, and he took a seat across from Éomer. A curvaceous barmaid dropped two fistfulls of ale steins on the table and Éomer and his friends quickly snapped them up.

 

“What can I get for you, luv?” she asked, swatting away one of the men’s hands as he tried to grab her backside.

 

“I’ll have one of whatever they’re having,” Elladan responded. “And some of that delicious smelling roast pork.”

 

“Our friend and his brother did us a favor,” Éomer said to his friends. “They cleared out a nest of orcs near Emyn Muil.” Several of the men toasted the peredhel.

 

“You’re welcome,” Elladan said with a grin before taking a drink of his ale. 

 

This prompted a round of tale telling - stories of battles great and small, and occasionally exaggerated feats of warrior prowess. Throughout Elladan was careful to pay attention to each man and not give into the temptation to watch Éomer alone. He dug into the plate of food when it arrived, and it was as good as Éomer had promised. His hunger sated, he pushed the plate back. He looked up to see Elfhelm standing behind Éomer.

 

“Come, friend. We have much to discuss with these two,” he said.

 

Éomer nodded and excused himself and Elladan from the table. As they walked away, Elladan heard one of the men roar and laugh at something another said. They made their way across to the far corner of the tavern and found a booth tucked into a dark alcove behind the bar. Loud, raucous places like this one could be entertaining, but generally he preferred quieter places.

 

They tucked into the booth and Elladan leaned against its back and sighed. It felt good to be sitting down; the feel of Éomer’s warm thigh pressed against his made him wish he could lean over and be enveloped in the man’s arms as they stared up at the stars together. He looked over at his twin. Elrohir was sitting close to Elfhelm and he imagined his twin was wishing for the same thing he did - somewhere quiet and beautiful in which to enjoy the company of their friends. 

 

They spoke quietly for a while, sharing stories and worries for the future. They drank their ale, and occasionally picked at the plate of bread and cheese laid before them. 

 

“I need to check on my horse,” Elladan said after some time. 

 

“I will come with you,” Éomer offered. 

 

Elladan smiled and slid out of the booth, then he nodded to his twin as he left the tavern with Éomer close behind.

 

“I need some air,” Elrohir said. 

 

“Yes, air would be good,” Elfhelm responded. “Shall we walk awhile? The hills outside of the village provide a good view of the lands around us.”

 

“That sounds appealing,” Elrohir said with a smile. “Lead on, my friend.”

 

After they left the tavern and town behind and climbed the gentle sloping hills surrounding the town, it grew quiet and still - in the distance they could hear the sounds of the town below and they could hear the crickets in the surrounding grasslands. Elfhelm lead them to a small grove of trees. Once there, Elrohir leaned back against the strong trunk of an Elm and he looked up through the branches at the stars overhead.

 

“How long has it been?” Elfhelm asked, watching the steady thrum of the elf’s pulse in his neck and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

 

“Too long,” Elrohir answered softly. He lowered his gaze to meet Elfhelm’s “I have missed you,” he said quietly. 

 

Elfhelm stepped forward and put his hands on Elrohir’s hips. He looked the elf in his liquid grey eyes. “Your eyes are the color of starlight,” he said in a low voice that was almost a whisper. “I have never before sought the embrace of one of my own sex, but I cannot stop thinking about you.” His fingers danced down the thick rope of braided hair that fell over Elrohir’s shoulder. “You are the best of both of our kind - elf and man. You are extraordinary,” he said softly.

 

“And you are a flatterer,” Elrohir teased with a smile.

 

“And everything I said was true,” Elfhelm answered, smiling back. He laid his hand on the side of Elrohir’s face, his thumb very gently caressing the bruise on the peredhel’s jaw. “I hope you killed the one that did this, otherwise I shall have to hunt him down.”

 

“Oh, I did. He ended in two pieces.”

 

Elfhelm smiled and huffed out a laugh. “Does it hurt?”

 

“I’ve been hurt worse. So have you.”

 

Elrohir caressed the man’s beard. “You look weary, my love,” he said softly. “It is the neverending war, is it not?”

 

Elfhelm leaned forward and nuzzled Elrohir’s neck. “Aye, that and being parted from you.”

 

Elrohir wrapped his arms around Elfhelm and held him close. “Then let us take full advantage now, yes? Will your men find it strange that you spend so much of your time with me?”

 

“My men admire you and your brother. You are fierce warriors whose reputation is known far and wide. They are proud to be in your company.” He pressed a kiss to Elrohir’s temple. 

 

“I would have you come home with me, see Imladris. It is so beautiful, Elfhelm.”

 

“I hope that one day I may do that,” he said, dropping kisses along Elrohir’s jaw, then down his neck.

 

Elrohir smiled and sighed a bit, tangling his fingers in Elfhelm’s unruly mane.  “Mmm… one day,” he murmured, then closed his eyes and became lost in the attentions his lover bestowed upon him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“He looks comfortable,” Éomer said, stroking Rochallor’s neck. 

 

“There is no heat in the leg, so that is a very good sign,” Elladan answered. He stood back up and rubbed his horse’s flank. “He’s a brave friend,” he said.

 

“Like his master,” Éomer added.

 

Elladan smiled. “I do my best.” He stepped closer to Éomer. “Is there somewhere we can go - where we can be alone?” he asked. “I have missed you so very much.”

 

Éomer looked around and nodded. “Aye. I know a place. Come.” 

 

Éomer led Elladan out of the stable and through a narrow cobbled street. It was early evening and the windows of the buildings they passed glowed with firelight. Families were gathered round dinner tables, and the taverns were full of revellers that were just getting started. They reached a small cottage that was at the far end of a fenced in field, and went inside. It had only two rooms - one of them being a water closet with a chamber pot and wash basin. There was a simple but wide bed that was covered in thick furs and blankets. A fire was banked in the hearth and there was a modest kitchen. 

 

“I stay here, when I visit. The family that owns this place lets it to me because my men and I saved this village from being torched by the Woses from Drúadan Forest. We will have privacy here.”

 

Elladan smiled as he shrugged out of his doublet. “Who stays up there?” he asked, pointing at a loft above their heads.

 

“Elfhelm,” Éomer answered. “He will not be back for sometime. He took your brother for a walk in the woods.” He smiled at Elladan and drew him into an embrace. “They may be here later, so perhaps we should… you know…”

 

Elladan’s smile widened. “Get to it?” he asked.

 

“Yes. We are going to need some time. I do not wish to rush this,” Éomer murmured against the shell of Elladan’s ear. He delighted at the way Elladan virtually melted against him and the breathy sigh that resulted at his touch. He worked the laces at the neck of Elladan’s shirt and then untucked it from his breeches. “Gods you are warm and soft,” he said softly and you smell of fresh cut grass.”

 

Elladan threaded his fingers into Éomer’s wild, golden mane.  “And you smell of leather and taste of salt,” he said huskily before wrapping his arms around his lover. “I have missed you and I am so very glad to be here with you now,” he said.

 

Éomer stared into Elladan’s striking grey-blue eyes. “I am glad you are as well,” he said, then he kissed him deep.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Three nights and two days in the company of one he cared for had not nearly been enough. He and his brother had kept their rooms in the lodging house for propriety's sake, but truly they had practically moved in with Éomer and Elfhelm. Their time had been brief but well spent, and now both brothers hated to leave.

 

Elladan fixed his pack to the back of his horse and then fixed his expression with a friendly smile. He turned around and looked at Éomer. “Where to now?” he asked.

 

“We are at the end of our patrol, so we return to Edoras. It is said that my uncle grows ill. Elfhelm and I will return to assess the state of the court and our armies and Theodred calls for the council to meet. Where will you and your brother go?” he asked, his expression also concealing how he really felt - what he really wanted to do. He wanted to take Elladan back to bed and stay there with him forever. But that could never be.

 

“Home, to Imladris,” Elladan said. “We have been gone for quite some time. We need return to see how our own realm fares in these darkening times.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Elrohir talking to Elfhelm. “We would go with you, to Edoras, if we could.”

 

Éomer placed his hand on Elladan’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Until next time, then?” he said. His smile was warm but tinged with sadness.

 

Elladan nodded.

 

Elrohir looked into Elfhelm’s eyes. His lover said little with words, but spoke volumes with his eyes. The man’s gaze said everything he couldn’t give voice to. Softly, so that no one but Elfhelm could hear he said, “Me too.” He embraced Elfhelm, careful to do it in a way that its true nature could not be ferreted out. “Winter is coming and soon the roads in the north will be buried in snow. As soon as the thaw comes, my brother and I will return.”

 

Elfhelm clapped Elrohir soundly on the back when what he really wanted to do was hold him close. “Will you ride with the Grey Company this winter?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Elrohir answered. We will be patrolling the lands west of The Shire, and north, to Arnor. We need look to the Ettenmoors.”

 

“Be careful,” Elfhelm said. “Those lands teem with evil things these days.”

 

“Which is why we must go. They are far too close to our homeland for comfort, and you and your men have things well in hand here. We will be in strong company and well attended.”

 

Elfhelm nodded and then he looked up at the sky. He sighed. “You should go. Daylight is wasting. Which way do you take?”

 

Elrohir swallowed and nodded. “We travel by way of Lorien. We will collect our sister before returning home.” He smiled at Elfhelm and laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Farewell, friend. See you in the Spring, yes?”

 

“Aye. In the Spring.”

 

Éomer and Elfhelm stood side-by-side as they watched the twin sons of Elrond ride out into the wide fields of East Emnet. Éomer clapped his hand upon Elfhelm’s back. “Well, old friend. Are we ready?”

 

Elfhelm sighed. “Aye, we are.”

 

“Rohirrim!” Éomer called to the men and horses gathered in the stableyard. “Time to go home!”

 

He mounted his horse and Elfhelm did the same, then the muster road toward Edoras.

 

~Finis


End file.
